


The L word

by ElizabethDurham



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 00Q new year's exchange, Anal Sex, BDSM, Christmas Fluff, Dom!Bond, Dom/sub, Fluff, Gift Exchange, Happy Ending, Light Masochism, Oral Sex, PWP, Sub!Q, basically just porn, who am I kidding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 01:52:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1101005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizabethDurham/pseuds/ElizabethDurham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For wickedsymphony (http://wickedsymphony.tumblr.com/  or dragonfire1603  because I don't know how to hyperlink) <br/>Basically porn. With a smidgen of fluffy plot if you squint really closely. Mostly porn. </p>
<p>Bond has never really celebrated Christmas. To Q, though, Christmas is something special. As, he is finding, is James. <br/>Their first Christmas together, with Q as Bond's sub, dressing as santa's elf in a red corset and Bond giving him a collar. I'm rubbish at summaries. </p>
<p>Porn. That's the message here. BDSM porn. With fluffy romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The L word

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dragonfire1603](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonfire1603/gifts).



            Christmas with Bond was proving to be an interesting affair. Q’s childhood Christmases had been filled with flurries of tinsel and glittering lights, cookies and gifts. It was a tradition he carried through adulthood, simply out of habit, or perhaps out of some lingering fondness for a family he had long since grown apart from.

            Bond, on the other hand, wouldn’t have known what Christmas spirit was if it shot him with his own Walther.

            “Honestly, Moneypenny, it’s as though he’s never even _seen_ a Christmas ribbon. I mean, what am I supposed to do with that?”

            Moneypenny took a sip of her coffee, eyes fixed in the latest report from M, listening with the one ear she always gave him when he emerged from the Q-branch basement to bitch about his boyfriend troubles. Which, given his boyfriend of six months was agent 007, the notorious womanizer, infuriating tease, horrendously suave conman, dominant, and highly trained assassin, were, it had to be said, at least worthy of one of Moneypenny’s ears.

            “I don’t see what the problem is, darling,” she said soothingly, glancing over with some amusement at where Q was kicking his heels from on top of her desk, “Just find some common ground, give him something to look forward to, and then introduce him to something actually fun. If he still knows the concept.”

            Q glowered at her.

            “But it’s Christmas! How could someone have gotten this far through a frankly quite alarmingly diverse life and _not_ have celebrated Christmas? I mean, am I supposed to get him a gift? I will get him a gift, but what should I get? I mean, it’ll be some sort of weapon, but I give him those anyways. Maybe I won’t give him a gift.”

            “Calm down, sweetheart. Go back to your cave, think it over, and if you still can’t think of what to do, come back with alcohol after I’ve finished the paperwork and we’ll talk.”

            Q grumbled something about not knowing why he bothered, but said a quick thanks anyways, pecking her on the cheek before sulking out the door.

           

            It was actually a problem, though. What did one get a 00 agent who had barely heard of Christmas spirit, let alone received actual Christmas presents? He had capitulated and given the Bond his bloody exploding pen a long while back, and he had all the expensive cars Q could reasonable explain away as necessary. He knew next to nothing about James’s preferred brands of Scotch, and it wasn’t as though he was going to get James a pretty woman to fuck for Christmas. Which just about exhausted his knowledge of Bond’s obvious interests. Q and Bond both could be defined primarily by their work; it was their love and their lover. But then, that was why they worked so well together. They were faithful to their work, and faithful to eachother.

            Fuck it all, he thought with a groan, head falling to bang lightly against his desk. He cared about Bond. Irrevocably, faithfully, horribly. More than he should. Niether of them ahd dared bandy about the ‘L-word’ yet, but it wasn’t long coming. Not when even the memory of Bond’s hands on him calmed his mind more han he would have thoguth possible a month ago.

Who knew one of the biggest challenges of being in a submissive relationship with the most deadly assassin in all of MI6 would be Christmas shopping?

 

            Bond had never been one for Christmas traditions. ‘Orphans make the best recruits,’ as the old M had said, and few of the 00’s grew up in any sort of traditional household.

            “Just get him another fucking cardigan. Or, do the world a favor, and get him a decent suit,” Alec advised sagely from the bottom of a bottle of high-proof vodka.

They were at Alec’s flat. A three-month stint in Russia had left the younger man in a bit of a rut on his return, so Bond had come over, picking up the largest bottle of vodka at the liquor store beside their flat.

As Alec relaxed in increments, conversation drifted towards their respective trail of lovers and loves. It was an unusually safe topic for both of them; their lovers tended to be brief, bright-burning romances at best. Usually no more than forgettable one-night stands.

            Then, of course, Q had to come along and ruined everything.

It had begun on a mission to Panama. Some ridiculous political drama that had ended in a near-death explosion and Bond returning to the hotel where he and Q were staying, high off post-mission adrenaline and the sight of his fluffy little quartermaster’s ferocious glee at a job well done, Bond had fucked the boy silly, finding out halfway through the night that not only was he a submissive, but an absolutely gorgeous one at that. One that made him feel alive and needed as few people did.  

            “You really care about him, don’t you, James?”

            Alec asked, squinting through alcohol-fuzzy eyes. Bond sighed, swigging back another swallow of vodka and discounting the question with a waved hand.

            “I thought we were hear to help you settle back down.”

            “Don’t avoid the question, James.”

            Bond frowned.

            “Of course I bloody care for him, Alec,” he finally grunted, “he’s probably the only man within a thousand miles as cocky as we are, with the skills to back it up.”

            Alec laughed at that, toasting the statement with his near empty glass.

            “I’ll drink to that!  I take it then that you are fucking?”

            Bond snorted,

            “Yes. And? Since when has ‘sex’ equaled ‘sentiment,’ for either of us?”

            “So you are banging him!” Alec said triumphantly, before frowning, brow furrowed. Bond glanced down, anticipating the next question.

            “How far have you gone with him?”

            “Alec – “

            “Bond. Mate. I’ve known you for the portion of your life that matters. Are you fucking him, or domming him?”

            Bond rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to toss his empty glass at Alec’s head.

            “I care about him, Alec. What do you think?”

            Alec’s eyes lit up and he all but cackled, clutching his sides from laughter.

            “Oh, Bond. The quartermaster? Since when did your tastes run towards skinny little boys?”

            “Shut it,” Bond punched the man in the shoulder, hard enough to knock most men over, “it’s your fault you’re not flexible.”

            “Well, this solves your problem then, doesn’t it?” Alec ignored his last comment, “get him a nice pair of cuffs.”

            “But it’s Christmas!” Bond protested, “I’m not sure you understand quite what that means to him.”

            “What? Has this gotten into L-level territory?”

            Bond glanced away briefly,

            “Neither of us has said it, but…”

            Alec rolled his eyes, flopping back onto the couch with a put-upon sigh.

            “Alright, mate. We’re done talking about your little crush. If I recall, this was about getting me drunk enough to forget three months as an ice lollie chew toy for the Russian Mafia, yes?”

            Bond reached for the vodka again, pushing thoughts of Christmas and Q to the sidelines.

 

            It was past midnight when Bond finally got home, a slight sway to his step the only indicator of the truly heroic amounts of alcohol he and Alec had consumed. He fumbled briefly with the key to his and Q’s flat, before finally pushing it open with a mumbled curse and stepping inside.

            “James?”

            Bond could see the silhouette of Q’s head where he sat at the kitchen table, typing away at his laptop, hair running wild as usual. He smiled. It was nice coming home.

            “Q, darling. Come here a moment,” he said, that slight edge of command in his voice letting Q know how the night would go. It was with no little satisfaction that Bond saw Q’s pupils dilate with lust as he hurried to close his computer and kneel before James, head bowed, hands placed before him palms-up.

            Bond sighed, letting himself tangle a hand in the unruly mop of curls before him, pulling his head back until he could get a finger under that pointed chin.

            “I’m far too drunk to fuck you tonight, Q,” he said quietly, smiling at the slight fall in Q’s expression, “but you should get some sleep. I have no doubt I’ll be more than ready to make up for it tomorrow.”

            “Yes, sir,” Q whispered, “shall I help you undress, sir?”

            “That would be wonderful, darling,” Bond murmured, pulling Q to his feet and kissing him soundly, before drawing back and flicking his nose playfully. Q scrunched up his face like a put-upon cat and almost pouted, much to Bond’s amusement, but did as he was told, starting at Bond’s collar and working his way down until his lover was entirely stripped, firm muscles standing proud against tanned skin. He cold feel his mouth water.

            “You’re welcome to taste, pet,” Bond invited easily, “you have such the mouth on you.”

            “You say the sweetest things,” Q murmured, half-sarcastic, pressing open-mouthed kisses to Bond’s collarbone, his neck, down his sternum to the hedge of yellow curls nestled around the agent’s rather impressive prick. His tongue flicked out briefly to taste the head, drawing a moan out of Bond, who immediately pressed his hands into the back of Q’s head and forced him to take his length down hard and fast. Q, inevitably, choked, and Bond pulled him up so he could catch a breath before shoving him back down again, reveling in the silken heat on his cock as Q’s lips parted and he simply enjoyed being used.

            “Such a beautiful little cocksucker…” he murmured, smoothing his other hand down Q’s jawline in a deceptively sweet kiss compared to the pace at which he was fucking the boy’s mouth, “Alec’s jealous.”

            And then he held Q down on his cock long enough for the quartermaster to put his infinitely talented tongue to good use, and Bond came with a groan, pulling back just enough for his cum to paint his Q’s swollen lips and blown eyes in sticky white strings.

            “Beautiful,” Bond sighed, kneeling down to catch Q up in his arms and hold him tight, “do you want to come, pet?”

            Q nodded quickly and Bond chuckled.

            “Go sit on the bed. Don’t touch yourself. I may be too pissed to fuck you in good conscience, but that doesn’t mean we can’t play.”

            “Are you going to make me wait, sir?” Q asked sharply, and Bond laughed.

            “I’ll make you do whatever I want, Q. But yes, I think I’d like to make you wait tonight. How does that sound?”

            Q pursed his lips but didn’t argue, the way his erection was tenting his hound’s check trousers giving a decent clue as to why he was being so agreeable.

Bond smirked and went to fetch himself a cup of tea.

           

            When he finally crept into the bedroom, he found Q on the bed as promised, one slim hand rubbing desperate circles into his crotch in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure. Bond shook his head. That was just a challenge. And challenges had to be dealt with.

            “Q.”

            At his name, Q started, drawing his hand back guiltily as he met Bond’s eyes. Nonetheless, there was a stubborn set to his jaw that Bond just _loved_ to play with.

            “What did I tell you, Q?”

            “Don’t touch myself.”

            “Precisely.”

            “But…” Q whined, and Bond sighed, moving with speed born of years as a field agent as he pounced on Q.

            The younger man let out a surprised little yelp, wriggling deliciously under Bond in a way that made him want to just turn him over and fuck his delicious little arse, but he held himself back. He knew he was less careful than he should be when drunk, and while he was Q’s Dom, he had no intention of seriously damaging his toy.

            “Quiet, quartermaster,” he said softly, right next to Q’s ear in a way that made him shiver, “you want to come, don’t you?”

            He nodded again emphatically, and Bond decided to reward his silence with a kiss to the pale expanse of his neck that soon turned into a rather harsh bite. Q moaned beneath Bond’s body, hands straining from where Bond had them pinned.

            “Bond…James…” he gasped, and Bond decided he needed his hands free to properly enjoy his little sub.

            He reached under the bed, pulling out Q’s favorite pair of handcuffs – black leather with a short silver chain – and locking him securely to the bed. Q’s eyelids fluttered as he pulled once or twice on his bonds, broken please beginning to make an appearance over the mindless pleasure-sounds.

            “Not just yet, dear,” Bond whispered, “legs up for me.”

Q obeyed, exposing his grasping hole to Bond’s scrutiny.

            “Well well,” Bond smiled, running rough fingers along the edge of a thick black plug nestled in Q’s arse, “Someone was eager.”

            “Just…” Q moaned, “just make me come already.”

            Bond’s grin widened.

            “That’s not how this works, pet.”

            He took the end of the plug, rotating it back and forth until Q groaned, before pulling it out marginally and, with precision born of six months time to learn the Quartermaster’s body, began mercilessly targeting his prostate.

            Q moaned again. Bond chuckled, keeping up his brutal assault on the man’s arse as he began licking at his pale neck, biting roughly at Q’s collarbone before drifting lower and taking one pebbled nipple between his teeth.

            Q swallowed a scream, arching off the bed in a taught line until Bond’s broad hand shoved him back down with a whispered,

            “Not yet, darling. A bit longer…”

            “Fuck you…” Q mumbled, any bite to his words lost as Bond shoved the plug in Q’s arse back and forth across his prostate, “let me come.”

            Bond bit hard on Q’s other nipple, before lavishing it with little licks and kisses, his free hand coming up to circle Q’s throat in a teasing threat. Q’s breathing hitched and he looked like he was fighting between keeping his eyes flung open to watch his lover and squeezing them shut against the onslaught of pleasure.

            “As nicely, my shameless slut” Bond whispered in Q’s ear, pulling the plug out of Q’s arse entirely, making the younger man moan indecently.

            “Bond…” Q whispered, all but broken, shaking under Bond’s hands. Just the way they both liked it.

            “Now. That’s not my name, is it?” Bond smiled, biting at Q’s neck again, higher this time, where people would surely see it.

            Q’s eyes fluttered shut, and he let out a broken shout.

            “Sir! Sir, please….please let me come!”

            Bond released Q’s neck, sliding the butt plug back in with brutal force, biting once again at his chest as Q screamed.

            “Come,” Bond demanded, moving to wrap a hand around his quartermaster’s cock.

            Q came with an inhuman sound, bucking up and down in a way that made Bond’s very interested cock wonder if he wasn’t sober enough after all. In the end, though, seeing his little toy spread out beneath him, rubbing enticingly against his length, was enough to pull him over the edge with Q, coming in his pants with a muffled groan.

            He undressed quickly, returning to the bed with a wet cloth to gently clean off Q’s stomach, before slipping under the sheets and pulling Q with him, spooning the smaller man against his chest.

            “How was that, darling?” he asked quietly into the preposterous mass of curls. Q let out a contented sigh, stretching like a cat and scooting to press himself even closer to his lover.

            “You know I loved it,” he muttered. Then, so quiet Bond thought he might have misheard, “I love you.”

            Bond’s breath caught, but before he could ask about the sentiment, he felt the quartermaster’s breath settle, and found he was asleep.

 

            Q plopped a bottle of wine from Bond’s stock on Moneypenny’s desk the next evening just after seven, scooting so he could sit atop her paperwork as well. Moneypenny sighed, but didn’t protest, instead picking up her phone and instructing one of the interns (see: minions) to order some decent Chinese food for two.

            “So. Still no gift ideas?”

            Q waggled the overtly expensive bottle of wine as answer and Moneypenny laughed.

            “Well, come on, let’s start with what he likes. That ought to get us somewhere.”

            Q pouted, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

            “You know as well as I that takes us to fast cars, sex, being a controlling prat, tailored suits, and his work.”

            “Six months and that’s all you’ve got for me, Q? Come on, give me details,” Moneypenny grinned, propping her chin up on her hands in deceptively innocent position. Q rolled his eyes.

            “I knew the price for all this free help would come up sometime.”

            “What? You’re shagging James Bond. This agency’s not used to him keeping his affairs private; it makes us nervous.”

            Q considered it for a moment, then smiled cheekily.

            “You want details? Like how he was too pissed last night to fuck me properly, so he held me down and used a plug, told me what a slut I was as he made me beg to – “

            “Alright, alright, you win!” Moneypenny waved a hand to cut him off, “too much detail. So. We’re back to Christmas gifts.”

            Q’s smile was angelic.

            Moneypenny sighed.

            “Explosives?” she suggested.          

            “That was last birthday.”

            “Aston Martin?”

            “As if he needs another.”

            “Walther?”

            “He has one, Eve. I don’t think we need to see the damage he could do with two.”

            “Fair point,” Eve allowed.

            There was a knock on her door and she buzzed the frightened-looking intern in, relieving him of three take-out containers of food and two sets of chopsticks. The two dug in eagerly, Eve with considerably more grace than Q, who had dropped three pieces of Mongolian beef by the time Eve had opened her rice and green bean chicken.

            “Well,” Moneypenny said after a moment of silent chewing, her voice quiet and careful as to a potentially frightened horse, “what about giving him yourself?”

            Q raised an eyebrow.

            Moneypenny did the same.

            “Q…” she began carefully, “I’m not sure if you’ve read through Bond’s mission files in their entirety, but his preferences tend to run a bit….I’m not sure if you’re….but I’m sure he’d appreciate…”

            She cut off awkwardly, and Q stared at her for a few moments, before snorting into his beef, glasses knocked slightly askew on his nose. Eve flicked a bit of chicken at him crossly.

            “What?”

            “Eve, I know he’s a dominating bastard. God, what do you think we’ve been doing with each other all this time.”

            “Well excuse me for forgetting the details of my best friend’s apparently BDSM relationship. Oh wait, I wasn’t given any.”

            Q laughed until he was forced to take a breath.

            “Alright, alright. Point taken. Now, suggestions?”

            Eve glanced at him again.

            “Was there something wrong with my previous suggestion?”

            “What?”

            “Give him yourself. Dress up, give him a good time, whatever he likes.”

            “I can’t actually believe I’m having this conversation with you,” Q realized somewhat belatedly, “god, you are far too interested in my sex life.”

            Eve smirked,

            “As interested as any woman would be in the sex life of two of the most attractive males in the agency.”

            Q shook his head, but he was grinning.

            “Fine, Eve. I’ll think about it. But you are _not_ getting details, understand?”

            “Why Q, I’m hurt.”

            “Yes, yes. Go seduce Alec or Mallory. You’re far too sexually frustrated.”

            “The boss, really?”

            Q just smiled.

            “Eve, you do realize I have access to every camera in the building. Whether I enjoy what I see on them or not.”

            Eve swatted him with an acquisitions form and shooed him out of her office, telling him in no uncertain terms what she did to quartermasters who bandied about such blatant lies. Q laughed through a mouthful of beef and did as he was told, returning to his basement office and settling in to think.

           

            “So. You are domming him?”

            “Yes, of course I am Alec.”

            “Then give him the time of his life for Christmas. It’s not really that difficult.”

            Bond sighed, mildly annoyed for the first time at Alec’s carefree attitude when it came to sex.

            “It has to be…” he took another swig of scotch (they were at his and Q’s flat this time), “it has to be special. Q cares about Christmas.”

            Alec shrugged, lounging like a bored panther on their couch, though his eyes showed a twinkle of amusement at Bond’s uncharacteristic dilemma.

            “And you care about him. So show the little twink. Make it a heartfelt shag.”

            “You give the shittist advice, Alec,” Bond scolded, kicking his friend lightly in the shins, only leaving a minor bruise.

            “Thanks. Just returning the favor.”

            Bond laughed, taking another sip of scotch as he thought.

 

            Christmas eve, and Bond was in Moscow, pounding down deserted streets and alleyways after a man who may or may not have had a bomb strapped to his left calf. And, to top off the entire debacle, it was snowing.

            “Well, it’s a white Christmas, then,” he said ironically, knowing Q would hear him. Indeed, after a moment of static, his earpiece crackled to life.

            “Nice try, Bond,” Q sighed, “but that’d be tomorrow. There is nothing even remotely redeemable about tonight. You were supposed to be home by yesterday. The bloody fool.”

            “If you mean the arms dealer for disregarding a major holiday and having the gal to attempt flight from captivity and almost certain death at the hands of the Russian justice system or lack thereof, I haven’t a clue, Q,” Bond said sarcastically, and heard Q sigh again.

            “Come home soon, Bond. Before I’m forced to blow every fuse in Moscow simultaneously in the hope of randomly electrocuting your target.”

            “Stooping to luck now, are we Q? Such a disappointment,” Bond breathed, smiling at the familiar banter even as he pushed his legs harder, faster, in pursuit.

            “I’ll stoop much lower if you’re not home by tomorrow night, Bond. I have plans, you know.”

            Bond perked up.

            “Plans? Well. I shall politely inform our terrorist he cannot possibly leave the country. My darling boyfriend has plans, and I don’t have the time for a prolonged chase.”

            Q sighed through the com set.

            “I wouldn’t put it past you.”

 

            In the end, Bond managed to catch Gregor Tavenoch before he fled Moscow, sweet-talking and bribing himself onto a flight home at 12 pm that night. Not, however, before visiting a shop in Moscow center he and Alec had frequented once or twice to pick up an order he had placed when first assigned the Tavenoch case five days before.

            All through the flight and the subsequent drive back to headquarters, he bounced the little box on his knee, fingers running again and again over the silver ribbon binding the brown box closed. He was looking forward to Christmas, for perhaps the first time in his life.

           

            Q signed off Bond’s coms at one o’clock on Christmas day. He glanced briefly at the frilly bag sitting in the corner of his office, artfully hidden under some colorful robotics parts, thinking of its contents and Eve’s smile when she had all but broken into his office to examine his choices. He had eventually gotten her approval, which was something, he supposed. But he hadn’t bought them to impress her.

            He would have worried the problem sick, as he had been doing for the past week, but the cot in the corner was calling to him, and the long hours up watching Bond shoot and be shot at were telling. He swayed over to the pillow nest and let himself fall into unconsciousness, thinking of Bond’s hands on him, protecting him and lulling him into dreams.

 

            Bond had, of course, intended to visit Q as soon as he returned to headquarters, but after a debrief with Mallory, during which he was bullied into visiting medical despite an astonishing lack of any substantial wounds, the doctors of MI-6 decided he needed rest, all but sedating him until he agreed to an hour’s nap.

            An hour turned into eight, turned into nine after the various post-mission snarls, until he all but shouted at the majority of MI-6 that they could either end up shot, or let him bloody well go home.

            It was, luckily, at that moment, that Alec wandered in. While the forces of MI-6 bureaucracy could often handle one 00 without much trouble, those particular two were a match made in chaos, and with a little push and a rather superfluous number of threats, Bond found himself in the garage, keys in the ignition of a new Jaguar coupe.

            “Thanks, Alec. I owe you one,” he said gratefully, leaning out the car window. Alec smirked.

            “I’ll take you up on that sometime, James. I saw that toy of yours leave headquarters today. Or, more accurately, I saw what he had in his bag.”

            Bond’s eyes lit up.

            “Have a merry fucking Christmas, Bond.”

            “Thanks. I will.”

            Bond hit the accelerator pedal, suddenly very glad his license plate forbade the bloody interfering bobbies from ticketing him as he circumnavigated every speed law in existence. Little box in hand, he forced himself to customary casualness, the effect somewhat ruined by the way he took the steps two at a time, arriving out side their door with his pulse beating a tattoo on his inner wrists.

            “James?”

            Q’s voice came from inside the flat,

            “James, is that you?”

            Bond grinned, pushing open the door and stepping inside.

 

            Q left the office at five that night, ignoring Alec Trevelyan’s suggestive glance as he hurriedly tucked the lingerie bag out of sight. Back at the flat, he carefully unpacked his purchases, wondering briefly if he wasn’t mistaken, before deciding that if he was, Bond could bloody well deal with it. It was more than Q had done for any partner in a very long time, that was for sure.

            First, the red stockings and garter belt, accompanied by lace knickers that covered exactly none of his admittedly very nice arse. Next was the red corset, done up with white satin ribbons that cinched his already slim waist into almost womanly proportions. On his head, a small elf’s hat, as if that could excuse the entire debauched picture in the name of Christmas.

            Q dressed himself in front of the mirror, fiddling with the corset for what felt like forever before he finally got it tied properly. The stockings were easier, but only slightly, the garter belt endlessly fiddly. Finally, the elf hat he perched on top of his head like a crown. He considered the ensemble for a moment, before returning to their bedroom and picking an assortment of toys for Bond to choose from. A wooden paddle. Riding crop. Three different dildos. Gag. Condoms and lube. Handcuffs. Cock ring. He shivered a bit in anticipation, returning to lay them all out before the Christmas tree in a neat little line. As a last-minute touch, he fished a bit of gold ribbon from a forgotten drawer, tying it securely around his neck in a bow before kneeling behind the line of toys, in front of the Christmas tree, to wait.

            It was seven-thirty when his sensors picked up someone at the door, and for a moment Q’s stomach flipped at the realization that it could just as well be Eve coming to check on him. Or Alec, come to break in. The idea of either of them coming in to find him spread out and tied up like a bloody gift was too embarrassing to contemplate. Well. Alec might take it well. Eve would just laugh until she was sick.

            “James, is that you?” he called out, just as the door swung open.

            Q had expected Bond to look tired. He had just flown in from Moscow, after all. But either medical had forced the 00 to rest for once, or he was simply entirely inhuman, because he seemed on full alert, moving with the sensuous prowl he often got after successful missions, misplaced sexual tension wreaking havoc not only with his libido, but subsequently with Q’s as well.

            “James,” Q breathed, eyes flicking to take in every inch of his lover’s body.

            “Q. Well. Isn’t this a pleasant surprise.”

            “Merry Christmas, James,” Q smiled, tipping his head to one side and baring his neck in a way he knew was just begging the older man to bite. As per form, Bond all but growled, stalking forward so he could circle Q like a lion, tipping his chin up so he could press a kiss, then a bite, to his jawbone. Q shivered.

            “Well, well, well,” Bond whispered, crouching down to survey the toys Q had set out, “someone was optimistic. Tell me, darling. If you want me to use any of these, what will you be calling me tonight?”

            Q took a breath. They had been fucking for six months. He had been subbing for bond for three. And yet there was still that initial resistance and that glorious surrender whenever he finally said:

            “Sir. Master. Please.”

            Bond captured his mouth in a heated, possessive kiss.

            “Good boy. Now stand up. I want to see my little elf before I undress him.”

            Q did as he was told, rising a bit jerkily at first and turning in a circle. He heard Bond’s intake of breath as his arse was presented, made to look even plusher by the slimness of his corseted waist and outlined in red lace.

            “My god you are a sight,” Bond breathed, hands tracing the lines of lace carefully before taking rough handfuls of Q’s buttocks and squeezing. Q yelped, but stayed in place.

            “You’re being such a good boy tonight,” Bond hummed, right next to Q’s ear, very interested erection fitting perfectly into the crack of Q’s arse as the agent began a slow grind. Q moaned, own cock deciding to take an interest in the proceedings, rising to strain at the lace panties. Bond glanced down and smirked.

            “May I unwrap my present now?” he asked roughly, and Q nodded.

            “Anything…everything,” he gasped, “I’m yours, James. Merry Christmas.”

            Bond breathed in sharply, thoughts roaring at the simple statement.

            “Oh, fuck Q,” he muttered, spinning the younger man around to face him, “oh fuck. I was going to give this to you afterwards, but I don’t think I can wait to see you in it.”

            He grabbed the end of the gold bow around Q’s neck and pulled, unwinding it until Q’s throat was bare.

            “Here. Open it. Merry Christmas to you as well, Q.”

            He shoved the brown box into Q’s hands. Q took it curiously, tugging at the silver ribbon and lifting the lid to look inside.

            There was a horrible moment of dread when Bond saw Q’s expression: shocked. Horrified, perhaps? But…

            Then Q let out another of those indecent moans, the type that Bond was fairly sure were designed solely to drive his blood pressure to its limit.

            “Sir…James….” Q breathed, lifting the exquisitely crafted collar of black leather from silver tissue, weighing it reverently in his hands, “please…”

            If it were possible for Bond to get any harder, he would have. Just at the sound of Q’s broken please. Instead, he simply reached forward, catching Q’s eyes and holding them as he buckled the strip of leather and metal around Q’s neck. Q’s eyes fluttered shut and his breathing stopped for a moment, entire body going limp as he swayed. Bond wrapped arms around the slender man, holding him tight as his fingers traced patters across the collar.

            “Will you be mine, Q? My little elf?”

            Q smiled, looking up again.

            “I’m yours, James,” he whispered, nipping playfully at Bond’s lips, begging a challenge. Bond was happy to comply.

            “What was it I said?” he asked carefully, drawing away so Q was left alone, “what were you to call me tonight?”

            Q’s eyes twinkled,

            “I was to call you sir. Or else no toys.”

            Bond raised an eyebrow. Q hesitated, before bowing his collared head.

            “Sir,” he whispered, and Bond smiled, picking up the wooden paddle and settling himself on the sofa.

            “Good boy. Come here, darling. Let’s see you over my lap.”

            Q complied, his swaying a bit more than was entirely necessary as he walked over to Bond, draping himself shamelessly over the older man’s knee and lazily rubbing across the broad leg beneath him, cock leaving a trail of pre come over the expensive trousers.

            Bond brought the paddle down sharply against Q’s arse without warning, without any warm up, and Q let out a little yelp.

            “You are not to come until told, do you understand?” Bond asked silkily. Q nodded, looking dazed, cock still hard and leaking.

            “Good.”

            Another stroke. Another yelp.

            “I want to hear a nice, ‘thank you, sir,’ after each stroke,” Bond demanded, bringing the paddle down again.

            “Thank you sir,” Q moaned.

            Bond smiled, letting his free hand rub lazy strokes over the satin of Q’s corset and, as the continued spanks turned the quartermaster’s arse a cherry-red to match, over Q’s dusky hole as well.

            By the tenth stroke, Q was moaning and crying out like a harlot, shamelessly humping Bond’s thigh and letting out the occasional plea along with his continued ‘thank you sir’’s.

            “Look at you,” Bond murmured, setting the paddle aside in favor of running hands along Q’s arched spine, cinched waist, and glowing arse, “my beautiful little whore. Mmm…how shall I have you, then?”

            Q turned his head, eyes meeting Bond’s in a haze of lust,

            “Please sir,” he whispered brokenly, “Please, anything you want, sir.”

            Bond grinned, all shark’s teeth and feral intensity. He reached for the lube that sat on the side table, slicking on finger before sliding it, without any pretense, into Q’s arse.

            “Like this sweetheart?” Bond murmured, leaning down close to Q’s ear, “shall I finger your pert little arse until you’re sobbing for it. Until you beg me to let you come?”

            Q just nodded, given up on words, and Bond smiled. He lifted his quartermaster up until he was straddling Bond, chest to Q’s back, returning his finger to Q’s arse and adding a second. After a moment’s search, he found Q’s prostate, pressing down hard and adding a third finger perhaps a moment before Q was ready, teasing the young man until he was alternately straining off Bond’s thighs and grinding down to press his arse to Bond’s cock.

            “Please…please sir,” he sighed, head falling back on Bond’s shoulder where it was instantly set upon by teeth that nipped and bit at the right half of his throat until it was red.

            “Please what, darling?” Bond muttered, adding a forth finger and rocking them back and forth out of Q’s hole, alternately torturing his prostate and taking pains to avoid it. Q writhed, letting out a broken sob, cock showing above the lace and leaving a damp patch on his corset.

            “Please,” he sobbed, “please let me come. I can’t take it. Please, sir, I’m going to – “

            Bond abruptly pulled all four fingers out of Q, settling him gently on the couch as he reached for the line of toys, ignoring Q’s little cry at the loss.

            “Shhh…” he soothed, returning with the two ribbons, a large black dildo, cockring, and the ballgag, “just stay still. Do as I say.”

            Q just nodded, allowing himself to be flipped back onto Bond’s lap as he worked the black dildo in to rest against Q’s prostate, drawing another broken moan from the man. Next, he snapped the cockring into place, teasing light fingers down the leaking head before drawing away.

            “So beautiful…” Bond murmured, running his hands along Q’s neck, down his sides, across his spread thighs, “so beautiful. Just for me. Just for me, right darling?”

            Q nodded, a quiet mantra of, ‘please sir,’ and ‘yes sir,’ and ‘yours sir,’ spilling from his lips. Bond bent to catch his mouth again, turning his lips as red as the rest of him as he caught Q’s wrists and tied them neatly behind his back with the golden ribbon. Q moaned into Bond’s mouth.

            “Is that alright, darling?” he whispered into the shell of Q’s ear. Q nodded quickly, nuzzling at Bond’s shoulder like a kitten.

Bond chuckled, tying the silver ribbon to the d-ring in Q’s collar like a leash, giving it a playful tug forward until Q’s mouth was hovering just above Bond’s so his breath ghosted over swollen lips.

            “Now. I want you to go to the bedroom and kneel on the bed. Can you do that for me, Q? Can you be good for me?”

            Q nodded again, aware only of agreeing, of pleasing Bond as he felt the ballgag slide into his mouth, lips closing around the silicon as it was buckled around his head. Bond pressed light kisses to his separated top and bottom lips before slapping his reddened arse and pushing him forward. Q stumbled slightly, righted himself, and set off for the bedroom, legs wobbling dangerously as the dildo in his arse caught his prostate on every step he took, the burn of Bond’s paddle stinging beautifully.

            Bond watched him go with hungry eyes, undressing leisurely as he thought of Q – straining and wanting on their bed – waiting for him.

 

            Q nearly moaned out loud just at the sight of Bond returning, entirely naked, cock standing proud and thick from a nest of blond curls. Bond’s smirk was entirely predatory as he advanced, climbing up the bed and pushing on Q’s chest until he fell backwards onto his bound hands.

            “Pretty little Q,” he purred, reaching to take the laces of the corset in hand, “I’m quite fond of this ensemble, but what would you say to some space to…breath?”

            It was a rhetorical question, Q told himself, as he seemed to have lost all ability to respond. Bond just smirked again, unlacing Q from the stained satin and running calloused hands over the pale chest exposed.

            He was less careful with the lace and stockings, merely ripping the former off of Q with a firm tug and tearing little holes in the latter with impatient fingers before pulling off both garter belt and ruined cloth with a quick jerk. All the while, his hands were running circles over Q’s body, finding the places that made him go weak, reducing him to a trembling mess on the sheets, mewling helplessly against the gag.

            “Shh…” Bond whispered as he took Q’s cock in hand, teasing him endlessly as the cock ring prevented any sort of release, “are you ready for me, dear?”

            Q somehow managed to nod his head, shuddering as Bond’s hands found his hair and tugged.

            “Then get on your stomach like a good little slut, would you darling? For me?”

            Q writhed experimentally in his makeshift bonds, rolling sideways until he was in the desired position, only to find himself yanked up by the waist, bent forward with his head pressed sideways into the sheets, arse high in the air. Bond changed his grip so he was holding Q’s bound wrists instead, pulling on the plug in Q’s arse.

            “I’m going to fuck you now, Q. My pretty little Q. I’m going to fuck you in my collar until you scream. Any objections?”

            He unstrapped the ballgag, allowing a quiet, ‘please, sir,’ out of lips that felt strange without something inside. Bond smiled, pressing a tender kiss to his cheek before drawing out the dildo in one smooth motion, lining up his cock, and pushing inside.

            Q let out a shout. Even after four of Bond’s fingers inside him, his cock was still a stretch, and the residual lube was just barely enough to ease the slide.

            “Fuck you’re tight,” Bond grunted, keeping his hold on Q’s wrists with one hand, steading his hips with another as he drew out and slammed back in.

            Q mewed brokenly, pulled up further as Bond tugged at him, head hanging down loosely as the drawn-out pleasure almost drowned him, mindlessly screaming as Bond’s cock fucked in and out, brushing his abused prostate every few strokes.

            “I should…” Bond breathed, “I should keep you like this all day. All day, tied up and waiting. Collared. Mine. Shall I send you to work with that lovely dildo inside you? Thinking of me every time you sat down? Would you like that, Q?”

            “Yes sir,” Q screamed, “please sir, let me come, I…I can’t…”

            Bond growled, releasing Q’s wrists only to loop his hand in the ribbon on Q’s collar, hauling him up until he was on his knees, flush against Bond as he ground into him again and again. With his other hand, he reached down, releasing the cock ring and jerking Q’s cock roughly in time with his thrusts.

            “Come for me Q,” he almost snarled, “come for me.”

            Q came with a muted scream, body straightening into a taught line before falling limply onto the sheets.

Bond pressed him into the bed, fingers still caught in Q’s collar as he fucked hard and fast, chasing his own release.

            Q distantly felt Bond’s come fill him as his lover pulled blindly at his collar, making him gasp pleasantly at the sensory overload. He felt the heavier body collapse alongside him, the minutes dragging as they both caught their breath. Breath in. Breath out. Q was floating. Safe. Loved.

Eventually, Bond got up. Q heard the tap turn on and off then Bond was back.

            “Can you turn over, Q?” he asked gently, pressing a towel to Q’s sweaty forehead. Q simply mewled, body limp and wrung out with pleasure, still floating off that high only Bond could give him.

            Bond chuckled, reaching over and flipping his little sub so he could clean and dry his spent body, pressing two fingers into his used arse to draw out the sticky mix of cum and lube with a debauched squelching noise. Q let out a halfhearted moan of protest at that, which Bond predictably ignored in favor of bending down to kiss lightly at Q’s nose, then at both his closed eyelids, like they were normal lovers with normal jobs and normal lives.

            “Merry Christmas, Bond,” Q managed to mutter as the two fell asleep in each other’s arms. Bond smiled, running a hand over the leather collar around his Q’s neck.

            “Merry Christmas Q,” he said quietly, “I…I love you.”

            But Q was already asleep. 


End file.
